


Laconic

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [50]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 06:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5364632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>laconic: adjective: ləˈkänik; (of a person, speech, or style of writing) using very few words.</p><p>mid 16th century (in the sense ‘Laconian’): via Latin from Greek Lakōnikos, from Lakōn ‘Laconia, Sparta,’ the Spartans being known for their terse speech.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laconic

**Author's Note:**

> When I saw this word, I was reminded of how Mark Gatiss commented once about how Martin Freeman loses lines in the show because he can say so much with a single look. ;)

After three straight weeks of ridiculous cases, Sherlock had collapsed on the couch intending to sleep for a week. Instead, he watched as his blogger made a pot of coffee and stretched his fingers, readying to tackle the blog which had not been updated in a month.

He considered his flatmate, a man of few words, some might consider him laconic, and yet, somehow, he had managed to create a blog that had a robust, even one might say, obsessive readership. John usually spent hours creating each post, dreaming up ludicrous titles that made Sherlock groan; 'The Speckled Blonde'? Really? Thousands of words over the last few years that insured The Work would continue as long as Sherlock chose....

John stopped and looked up, catching Sherlock's eye. He closed the laptop, yawned, pushed in his chair and walked over to the couch. Without a single word, he bent over Sherlock, giving him a single kiss, then extending his hand, invited his friend and lover to join him in their bedroom.

They moved as one, no words were needed, as they slowly undressed each other, before falling into bed. John curled around his detective, breathing in the scents of his shampoo, the occasional cigarette, (probably pilfered from Lestrade) and that warm sweetness that simultaneously calmed him and turned him on like no one ever had in his life.

Sherlock rolled over to face him, looked into his eyes and smiled softly. He placed his long fingers on John's strong jaw and kissed him like it was the very first time, perhaps a question. John answered by wrapping his arms and legs around him, and whispering, "tomorrow, love; tonight, sleep. I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
